


Blue streaks on her hair, silver marks on his soul

by Mary_the_gardener



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29425518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_the_gardener/pseuds/Mary_the_gardener
Summary: Zhenya keeps posting pics and vids from the Channel One Challenge. Nathan can't come up to terms with what he sees in some of them.
Relationships: Elizaveta Tuktamysheva & Nathan Chen, Evgenia Medvedeva/Mark Kondratiuk, Nathan Chen/Evgenia Medvedeva
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Blue streaks on her hair, silver marks on his soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emilia_kaisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilia_kaisa/gifts).



> 💙

It’s the most wholesome hug, just a little longer than the ones she’s given the others, just a tad tighter than the way she’s held the others: her chin hooked over his shoulder, her thin arm wrapped around his back, keeping him down close to her. And, when the scores come out, then she’s literally launching herself on him, holding him again, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, keeping him close, and he’s hugging her back, bending his head down to hide it in her arms and as he does so she is moving one hand to his head, caressing his hair, then dropping a lingering kiss on it and then resting her own cheek on his temple. When results come out she is but squishing him to her chest, shaking him in happiness.  
  
Nathan slams his laptop shut. It’s everywhere, it’s too much. He is used to avoiding social media, and he has long learned how to filter out content, but how can he now, when she herself is the one sharing this. Again and again. As if yesterday hadn’t been enough.  
  
It’s the second day that he has to witness this, and he can’t take it anymore, every still shot of their hugs is a sharp dagger piercing his soul, every tear the boy made her shed Nathan can feel dropping on his bare skin, scalding, those delicate slim fingers that are carding trough the guy’s hair he can sense as pulling strings, constricting his lungs, squeezing all the air out. And that kiss. That kiss is like venom, boring directly into his heart, making the muscles tense, the flow stop, like tetanus.  
  
  
He can’t allow this. He can’t take this. He needs to know, here and now, he needs to hear that it’s not what it seems, that it was just the high of the competition, that there’s nothing, _nothing_ , between the two.

He doesn’t even convert time-zones: just pulls out his phone, looks for one name and hits the call button.  
  
Liza picks up after just a couple rings “Hi Nate! How are you?” There’s a note of surprise but her voice is cheerful, and she seems happy to hear from him.  
  
“Is it true?” Nathan asks, going straight to the point. He is in no condition for pleasantries, every second that he passes still in doubt is like a drop of percolating lava crawling on his bare body.  
  
“Nate…” Liza’s tone instantly changes from joyful to worried as she tries to placate him.  
  
“Answer me.”  
  
“Oh Nate…” His heart instantly breaks at hearing her sound so sorry, for sure it cannot mean anything good. “I- I can’t tell you.”  
  
It’s like a bucket of ice dumped on his head. Like losing Zhenya wasn’t enough, now Liza is abandoning him too? Why? Why doesn’t she want to tell him? She knows what this means to him, what Zhenya means to him. This feels like the worst betrayal. He doesn’t even have the strength to reply anything, all he can manage is to hang up and then he’s slumping on the headboard of his bed, phone slipping from his hand and onto the duvet. He feels drained, lost, cast-off.  
  
  
He closes his eyes, trying to find some composure, trying to breathe. But it feels like oxygen is fleeing his lungs, like his stomach is burning and all the muscles of his core are closing in, contracting. It’s agonizing and his ears are ringing- wait. That’s actual ringing, the tune of his ringtone to be exact.  
  
Nathan opens his eyes to look at the phone that is vibrating next to his thigh: Liza’s name is on the screen, and for a second he considers not answering, but he knows that won’t help him, he knows if he ignores it he’ll slip back into an abyss of despair, so he does the only thing he can, he grabs onto that rope of hope that’s just been dropped for him. So he picks it up the phone.  
  
  
“I don’t know.” it’s the first thing Liza rushes to say, and, in his dizzy state, Nathan can’t make sense of it.  
  
“What?” he asks, body and mind feeling numb.  
  
“I don’t know if what you’re thinking is true.” she explains quickly, making sure to point out that they’re just talking about _assumptions_. Nathan needs a second to make sense of her words, but then the sky is opening up, a little tread of air is flowing in his lungs again. His guts are still knotted together, his heart is still weeping, but he can breathe now, he knows that he’s not been tossed away.  
  
“Okay.” his voice comes out extremely feeble, but it’s enough for Liza to pick it up through the phone.  
  
“Okay?” she echoes, concern filling her question.  
  
“Yeah.” Nathan breathes out, a little louder now, a little more convincing, both to Liza and himself, “Yeah, I just need to process this, let it sink in.”  
  
“I’m really sorry I can’t be of help. But we’re not very close,” Liza explains, “I really don’t know, I wasn’t even there.” She keeps apologizing and Nathan is starting to feel guilty for calling her up out of nothing like this: he should have thought things through, he should have known on his own that she couldn’t be able to tell him anything. “It’s okay, I get it.” He says, trying to reassure her. Ironic, he thinks, how he’s now trying to make her feel better while he’s in pieces.  
  
“Are you sure?” she insists, not needing to see his face to know how upset he is, “Is there anything I can do for you?”  
  
“No, I just need some time. It will pass, don’t worry.”  
  
“You should talk to her, Nate.”  
  
“I know. Maybe I will.”

“Please do. And take care of yourself.”  
  
“I will, you know I will.”  
  
“I do. Bye Nate.”  
  
“Bye.”  
  
“You know you can call me whenever, right?”  
  
“I do.”

Nathan pushes the red button, then delicately puts the phone down on his bedside table. He knows he may have overreacted, he knows it’s just some hugs, it’s not like they’re getting married – _but they could very well be any minute_ , a not very helpful part of his brain supplies – but he can’t completely shake away these feelings: it hurt, and even if now he’s trying to look at things from a distance, to get some perspective, those vibrant emotions are going to leave blisters on his skin, red ugly marks blossoming on his soul and marking it with patches of silver that will not leave him for a long time. And, for Nathan, silver is a colour of grief.


End file.
